Back when I lived in Chicago’s Little Italy, I met this gangbanger named Frankie. I’d pass by him walking to college each day. People knew him in the neighborhood. The cops knew him. Everyone knew him. He’d grown up there and his family had been there for generations. Frankie was a friendly guy. He had an aura about him that made me feel like he owned the entire block. I enjoyed talking to him even if we couldn’t relate at all. We lived in the same neighborhood. but had an entirely different outlooks on life. If he’s not in jail, he’s probably still on that block dealing.

Frankie once told me, “It’s not worth robbing someone if it’s less than a grand”. 9 years later, that’s the one thing I remember from our relationship. It was a good conversation starter. “How much would you rob someone for?” 1 grand? 2 grand? 10? I doubt he’d ever even tried to rob someone. Frankie’s issue was integrity. I bought an ounce of weed from him for a reasonable price, but when I weighed the bag, it was 7 grams short. Instantly, I knew. He ripped me off. I weighed the bag again and there was no discernible difference. I know what you’re thinking. A gangbanger ripped me off when I tried to buy weed. You should buy from college kids! The money didn’t matter, but my feelings were hurt, and I was angry.

I went to confront Frankie with a stocky friend of mine. Before we could intercept him, Frankie ducked past his red brick stoop and bolted away from us. He didn’t look back. I didn’t get my money back, but I knew that he knew he was in the wrong. His fear of conflict gave me some closure. Back at my place, I laughed with Allen about this kid’s stereotypical delinquency and the panic in his eyes. “You know what? He ripped me off, but at least we scared him”.

A couple months ago, I moved to a new spot in Burbank. It’s a lovely neighborhood and a big improvement from roach-infested Van Nuys. I anxiously awaited the amount my landlord would return on my security deposit. I checked the mail daily. 3 weeks later, the check came, and it was worse than I’d imagined. Three Hundred and Sixty Two dollars. My original deposit was $975. Just like Frankie, this landlord had screwed me. I left the place spotless with only a towel rack to fix and a leaky bathtub faucet. There was a dirty spot on the wall. How could that possibly cost $600 to fix?

After researching California’s tenant laws, I contacted the management company requesting for additional funds. They gave a bogus account of the repairs. The toilet had to be replaced. The bathtub drain had to be unclogged. They weren’t going to repaint after 3 years, but had to due to my personal damage. After a 20 minute conversation and going through the itemized list of repairs, the landlord felt she was being “fair and generous” by not charging me for the water-stained shower door. Even though California largely favors renters, the security deposit is the best way of robbing the tenant. Take a day off and go to court for $400? What if I lose? What if the judge only gives me $200? I would’ve made more in a day of work. At the end of the call, we agreed on $150.

When there’s no consumer advocacy and watchdog groups, landlords will feel they can charge for anything they please. Court isn’t usually worth the time. Let’s eliminate security deposits or at the very least, cap it at $500. Housing in LA has been a steady bull market. There’s no way they haven’t made easy money with the rents increasing each year. Meanwhile, the consumer suffers economic hardships from their greed.

Thanks for the advice, Frankie. You reminded me that confrontation is necessary and it’ll often work in your favor, even when you’re on the losing side. There’s not much I can do here, but speaking up got me some money and blog material.

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